A strategy for supporting and listening to others Jeremy Brewer
I’m not sure what you might think
when you think about
the job of a police officer.
Recent events have sparked lots of debate
over the role of law enforcement
in our society
and if it should change.
And that’s a big, important conversation
that we all need have.
But today I’d like to talk about something
that’s at the core
to my day-to-day work –
something not often discussed
when talking about police work,
and that’s dealing
with trauma, hurt and loss.
What’s it like to tell someone –
someone that they know,
someone that they love died suddenly?
Many of you might think
this is done by hospitals or doctors.
If you die there, well, it usually is.
If you die outside the hospital,
it’s more often than not the police
who notify that nearest loved one.
Doing that type of work
has taught me powerful lessons
on approaching highly charged situations
in all areas of my life.
My passion to connect
started about 10 years ago.
I responded to a death call
that changed me.
A woman – let’s call her Vicky.
Vicky called because her husband
had suddenly collapsed
in the hallway of their home.
The first responders and I
tried everything.
We gave it our best effort,
but he died.
In complete devastation,
Vicky fell to the floor.
Instantly, I could feel us
strapping on that emotional armor,
going right to work
on policies and procedures.
I began peppering her with questions
like detailed medical history
and funeral home arrangements.
Questions that she couldn’t possibly
have been prepared to answer.
In an empathetic gesture,
I reached down and I put
my hand on her shoulder.
She flinched and pulled away.
Suddenly, her neighbor came running in
and instantly hugged her.
Vicky pushed her away too.
The neighbor seemed stunned,
a little put off,
and she walked back out.
Then, to make matters worse,
the medical examiner’s office,
carrying the body bag holding her husband,
dropped it down a flight of stairs,
crashing into a decorative end table.
I will never forget the sound of her voice
when she looked at me and said,
“I wish I never called.”
I felt awful.
Being confronted with death
can be difficult for everyone.
Often we rely solely
on our instincts to help guide us.
In law enforcement,
we tend to put up an emotional shield,
a barrier to emotions.
That way we can focus
on policies and procedures
to guide us.
This is why we can sometimes
come across as robotic.
I’ve discovered
that in the civilian world,
you’re often driven
by that instinct to fix it,
usually done with well-intended
comments or physical touch.
Sometimes that may be that right answer.
Other times, not.
Had I slowed down and just taken a breath,
I would have been better able
to connect to the humanity of that moment.
I could have avoided that policy
and procedure, check-the-box mentality.
Her neighbor, had she slowed down,
just taken a breath,
she may have been able to see
that in that moment,
Vicky just wasn’t prepared for touch.
Our hearts may have been
in the right place,
but we made it about us
instead of focusing on her.
In complete contrast,
more recently,
I met a woman – let’s call her Monica.
I was tasked to tell Monica
that her husband had tragically
taken his own life.
She fell to the floor crying so hard
she could barely breathe.
The gravity of that moment was so strong,
but I knew I needed to resist
that urge to move in
and to comfort her.
That sounds crazy, right?
Honestly, it’s excruciating.
In your mind and in your heart,
you just want to hug this person.
But I stopped myself.
Having been around trauma
for over 20 years,
I will tell you
not everybody is comfortable
with human touch.
There are people all over the world
suffering from physical
or psychological trauma
you may know nothing about.
Who knows what they’re thinking
or feeling in those moments.
If I move in,
if I touch her like I did Vicky,
I could unintentionally
revictimize her all over again.
Think: respect space.
Be guided by respect space.
It’s a simple concept with a huge impact.
You can’t step into that space
until you’re invited.
So I sat across from Monica,
silent,
eye level,
just feeling that moment.
My heart was pounding
so hard I could hear it.
That lump in my throat?
Ugh, I – I could barely swallow.
And you know what?
That’s OK.
Emotions and vulnerability
can be so hard for some people.
I understand that.
But in human moments, people want human.
They don’t want a robotic police officer
or to be talking about paperwork.
They just want another human
to connect to them.
As we sat together,
she asked me one question
over and over and over again.
“What am I supposed to tell my kids?”
One of the most important parts
of respecting space
is not always having to have an answer.
I could feel she didn’t want me
to answer that question.
She didn’t want me to try to fix
that unfixable moment.
She wanted me to connect
to the depth of that experience
she was going through.
Yes, I had a job to do.
And when the time was right,
I asked the questions
that needed to be answered,
but I did it at her pace.
Responding to death calls has taught me
so much about the human experience
and the best ways to be there for somebody
when they need you the most.
But it doesn’t always have to be
when dealing with death.
There’s never a bad time
to build a connection.
Hearing a private
revelation from a friend,
you could be such a better listener.
In an argument with a loved one,
by just stepping back
and giving that respect space,
you could better connect
to their side of an issue.
You may never be asked
to tell a complete stranger
that their loved one died,
but we all have the opportunity
to be the best, most connected
versions of ourselves,
especially in times of need.
That respect space
that you provide another
can have a life-changing effect
on the people around you.
Thank you.